


epistles of Conium maculatum

by kurofu



Series: Prompt-Fills [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Dark Harry, Harry has a lot of dark thoughts, M/M, Non BWL Harry, Obsession, One-sided pen-pals, Sane Voldemort (Harry Potter), Slytherin Harry Potter, to a certain degree
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-09 01:24:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19879294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurofu/pseuds/kurofu
Summary: Prompt: Non-BWL AU with Harry an abused kid in his fifth year of Hogwarts in Slytherin. He’s the average student, good at DADA and terrible at Potions. Snape hates his guts, and no one is there for him.So he begins writing creepy letters to random people, telling Hedwig to give them to whoever she wants. The first few are given to random students, some to some Muggles nearby, and a certain few are picked up by a Dark Lord who is getting ready to attack Hogwarts.He brushes them off and takes over the school, forcing all the Muggleborns to go back to their homes, meanwhile Purebloods are put on the top and Halfbloods are bullied senselessly.Harry, as one of the few Halfbloods in Slytherin is hurt because all the of the Slytherins gang up on him, but the Halfbloods of the other houses don’t like him because he’s a Slytherin.As he continues to write his letters hedwig begins to bring them exclusively to Voldemort.He begins to gain an interest in the writer of the letters, and in between plotting raids he begins his search for the writer.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skittykitty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skittykitty/gifts).



> To Sketch for the wonderful prompt.
> 
> Beta'd by sujing
> 
> This might be the only Prompt-fill that's going to be planned to have multiple chapters. Gosh darn it, where is my inspiration to finish my other WIPS?

_::Little One,::_ Nagini chided, her form curling around the legs of Voldemort's chair, her scales making a soft whispering sound when they made contact with his robes. _::It is late already, Little One. Have you not done enough yet?::_

The scratchings of the quill did not stop, not even a pause. A few seconds of silence passed, and the powerful muscles beneath Nagini's scales began to writhe.

Slowly, she began to curl her body up the chair, squeezing ever so slightly at some intervals. She made sure to wrap herself around Voldemort's arms, his torso, and shoulders, creating an impromptu cage.

 _::Little One... Do you_ dare _to ignore me?::_

When there was no response, Nagini constricted her muscles, sending a shock of paralysis but not enough to suffocate. The same way she would play with her prey. But this time to warn.

Voldemort hissed at the pain, the quill clattering from his grasp, splatters of ink flying everywhere. Despite the many decades Nagini had been with him, he could never truly relieve himself of this one weakness: the sudden, forced cramping of his muscles as they tried to fight off a familiar threat.

 _::Nagini, must you do this?::_ Voldemort said, turning to glare at the massive snake head that towered imperiously over him. _::You've ruined an important document.::_

Without warning, Nagini reared back and struck, fangs bared and hissing. Yet Voldemort did not flinch. His expression was impassive as he waited for his familiar to sink her fangs into his neck and pump lethal venom into his veins— 

But it never happened. 

As sudden as her attack was, Nagini stopped mere millimeters away from Voldemort's face. So close was her agape mouth to his face that Voldemort could see the minuscule sharp teeth that lined the insides of her gums, the smooth texture of the tongue, and the beading venom from her glands.

Because no matter how many times Voldemort had angered Nagini, she would never harm him.

He jumped a bit when Nagini's tongue reached out to lick him on his nose, taken aback by the too-motherly behavior from the large snake. Not that her nagging wasn't motherly, but more an annoyance than sweet.

With one hand, he rubbed the residue from his nose, and with his other, he batted away her snout. Nagini coiled herself until she could comfortably rest her head atop Voldemort's, and every so often, he could feel the wind from her tongue flicking out to taste the air.

Voldemort let out a slight sigh before picking up his quill again, wandlessly restoring the document back to its pristine condition. It seemed as if Nagini wouldn't leave quite yet.

 _::Little One,::_ she began again, breaking the silence. _::Why did you not answer me?::_ This time she made sure to flex her muscles.

_::I apologize, Nagini; I was preoccupied with the work in front of me.::_

She scoffed, ::No, you were ignoring me.:: Another whisper of scales on silk and then she blocked Voldemort's line of sight with her face. Her eyes stared accusatorily at him. _::You know as well as I do, Little One, that we can smell lies._

_::I have taught you what untruths taste like. I am your teacher and your mother. I know what you know.::_

Voldemort grimaced at being caught, but he was too old to feel chastised. He hadn't felt that emotion ever since the murder of his family. 

If snakes could roll their eyes, Nagini would have done so already. She bumped her nose on his forehead before returning back to lie on his head. 

_::It is late, Little One,::_ she noted, her voice raspy, _::The time of rest has come. The smell of dusk has arrived, burning my nostrils with its putrid scent of decay and musk. Will you be accompanied by the crickets' lullaby tonight?::_

Voldemort paused in his writing and sighed through his nose. Nagini was persistent when she wanted to be. He leaned back into his chair, mindful of Nagini's coils, and looked out the window.

Indeed, the sky was turning to dusk. Shades of lavender overtaking pale pink, creeping tendrils of indigo crawling across the horizon at a slow pace, like the forces of a victorious nation encroaching on its defeated opponents' territory.

_::It won't be much longer, Nagini. After I finish this stack, I will retire. Is that acceptable, Your Highness?::_

She hissed in distaste. _::Your false-speaks taste as horrid as night's clutches. But I can taste that my presence has annoyed you so, therefore I take my leave.::_ Slowly she unraveled herself from his body, heading towards the study door, as if unwilling to leave his heat. 

Before Voldemort could face his work again, the end of Nagini's tail flicked hard at his nose. Nagini, without looking back, complained, _::It is too late for my liking; however, I know that when your mind has been made, little can be done to change it. May white lights guide you tonight, Little One.::_

And with that, Voldemort was the only one in his study, stacks of paper and scrolls his only company. How like Nagini to have the last words, leaving their companions and opponents alike spluttering. And Voldemort knew it too well, after all, he himself had learned from the very best. 

"May white lights guide you tonight, Nagini." Voldemort shook his head, a soft pull on his lips before he dipped his quill in ink.

~~~~~~~~

With a final cross of a "t," Voldemort set down his quill and stretched. His bones and joints popped with each slight movement he made, the sounds near deafening in the silent space.

_"Tempus."_

Voldemort frowned. It was late, much later than he had estimated it would have taken him to revise the documents. He looked at the pile of completed documents on his desk and could feel a slight headache forming. 

Although he had revised the documents, he still had to reread them for a final time before he could even consider sending them to potential allies and law-making personnel. Sometimes Voldemort wondered if the paperwork was worth the title of Emperor.

If he said "no," then Nagini would nag him to kingdom come. Never had she ever raised a child to surrender their ambitions for such immature reasons. But then again, Nagini would still nag him if he did not sleep tonight.

He leaned back into his chair and closed his eyes, rubbing at his brows. Nagini was such a hard lady to please. With a wave of his hand, Voldemort ended the spell on the window, allowing the noises of the night to wash over him. Gradually, he could feel the tension in his shoulders began to relax, the building headache slipping away from him like oil on marble. 

A rustling of feathers cut through the crickets' songs, and Voldemort cracked an eye open. He gave a feral grin at what he saw, his fatigue immediately dispelled, a slight cackle bubbling in his chest. 

With renewed energy, he walked up to the window, a practically giddy glee coursing throughout his body, like a child to an anticipated present. 

"Why, hello there," Voldemort cooed, his fingers brushing the owl on his window sill. The feathers of the bird were kept pristine and perfect, shiny by sight and smooth to the touch. "As always, you're a _beautiful_ bird."

The owl preened at his praise before jutting its head towards him as a demand. Voldemort only chuckled; the defiance of this bird was uncanny, and he could only _think_ what its owner was like.

With careful hands, Voldemort relieved the bird of its burden, catching the letter from an open beak before placing it onto his desk. When he turned back to the window, the owl was still there, staring expectantly.

He reached into a drawer and took out slices of bloody meat, a special treat for a fine and loyal bird. The owl nicked his fingers as it ate, not enough to draw blood, but enough to feel the strength of the beak. How very _vicious!_

With each pet of his hand on its feathers, Voldemort was reminded of the similarities between this bird and Nagini. Both beautiful, both dangerous and unpredictable. 

It was said that every master-familiar pair shared personality traits with one another. And Voldemort could certainly feel the mark on the bird, pulsating and strong like a heartbeat, a beacon. If this bird and Nagini were similar, how would its master compare to him?

The very thought of it made Voldemort's mouth water, the possibility that there was someone like _him_ in the world. An _equal._ Maybe not be in power, but definitely in philosophy and imagination. 

He was brought back to reality when the bird gave him a hard nip to his fingers before flying off into the night, its pure whiteness disappearing into the darkness. A parabole to the dousing of a single flame in the all-consuming shadows. 

Voldemort could only look down at the indent on his finger, wonder and desire burning through him like a gluttonous beast. He wanted—no, _needed_ to crack the skull of the bird's master, to explore its contents and workings to his heart's content, and maybe more. 

But first, Voldemort walked back towards his desk and settled back into his chair, he had a letter to read. It seemed that Nagini would have to wait a bit longer before he could sleep.

~~~~~~~~

Harry woke to silence, a silence so deafening that he would have gone insane had he not lived within it for five years already. He tore open the curtains of his bed, only to snap them shut just as quickly. 

Blindly, he reached for his glasses, their position had shifted from the unrestfulness of his sleep the night before. Once worn, he cautiously opened the green curtains, allowing a sliver of yellowy-green light to pierce the darkness of his bed, the silk having been majicked to be as opaque as if it was velvet instead. 

He pulled the curtain a bit farther, watching the light grow and overtake the shadows of his bed, banishing away his dreams. At last, when the curtain was fully opened, Harry dared to face the light.

Weak though it was, he still used a hand to block his face. It was beautiful. It was hateful.

To him, the light was still too bright even with how watered down it was. It paralyzed him, each ray of light like swords stabbing his flesh and bones, keeping him in place.

Just then, a large shadow swam by, stopping momentarily in front of Harry. A tentacle pressed itself onto the windows, the suckers visible, its strength causing the casted majik on the glass to groan and shudder before the tentacle left, leaving clear imprints of circles. 

Harry smiled and waved back, thankful for the large shadow that freed him from the light. It wasn't that Harry was afraid of the light—no, that was just silly—it was just that it...suppressed him. 

His bed was the farthest from the bedroom doors, the closest to the large panels of windows. Always exposed to light no matter the hours except for dusk and beyond. The side of his bed farthest from the windows was spelled shut with vicious jinxes and hexes that were not his. Harry even suspected that there might be a curse or two lingering there.

He walked past the beds of his sleeping roommates, their beds silent because of privacy charms. The moment he stepped out of the light, he shuddered. 

No matter how much he thought the light was beautiful, how pure and clean, he would never be able to survive beneath it. 

Harry wasn't a flower like his schoolmates, the ones that soak up the sun's nutrients and grow proud and tall and beautiful. Harry was a weed that grew in the dark, lonely and forgotten and wilted.

~~~~~~~~

Fried eggs, fried bread, sausages, bacon,...

Harry listed off each of the items on his plate, each and everyone important to a man's breakfast. Or so Uncle Vernon told Dudley. Each and every morning, the men of the Dursley household were to eat a Normal meal. One that was comprised of everything traditionally English and accompanied by the most concentrated black tea for optimal wakefulness. Though to be quite honest, Harry thought that the meaning flew over Dudley’s head with how complex it was

Tomatoes, mushrooms, beans, and— 

"H-Hedwig! Give me that back! I need that for my breakfast!"

The snowy owl only stared back, eyes curious as it met Harry's panicked ones. Harry didn't dare to blink, because he knew that if he did, his food would be gone forever. His eyes burned when Hedwig didn't relent on their staring contest. 

But it hurt; it burned, and the _pain._ Maybe a very fast quick blink would solve it, very fast. Maybe if he used magic it would be fast enough. Reflex tears began to blur his vision and it didn't take long until Harry caved in.

One moment Hedwig was in front of him, his food in her beak, and the next, she had her head back, beak open.

"Hedwig, nooooo..." Harry cried, his hands pulling his hair as he melted onto the dining table, resigned. "Hedwig, that was _mine_... Why don't you go get yourself some from over there?" He pointed towards the fifth dish to his right.

Hedwig let out a soft coo in response. Harry groaned, burying his head into his arms. "Maybe I should just pluck and roast you one day," he mumbled, "that will solve all my problems—! 

"OW! Hedwig? What was that for? Stop it! Don't peck my head!" Harry batted his hands over his head, trying to protect himself from her sharp beak.

When at last, Harry was defeated, heaving and beak-bruised, but laughing lightly, he ruffled Hedwig's feathers. Though he quickly smoothed them back down before she could try to bite him. He picked up another block of his black pudding and fed it to Hedwig.

"You've been eating a lot of black pudding lately, Hedwig. Who's been spoiling you? It sure as heck isn't me." Harry sighed. Black pudding wasn't something that he could always get his hands on, and it seemed that Hedwig had gotten pickier. She left only the driest of the black puddings for Harry.

Hedwig hooted in agreement, and Harry perked up from his dip of sadness. 

"Really? Someone else has been feeding you? Do you like their foods?"

Another hoot, this one more trill. 

"Lucky... I wish I could have someone give me good food too."

Hedwig flew over towards the platter of black pudding, picking out the freshest and reddest ones to eat. Harry grinned before digging into his own meal, humming as he saw the eagerness in Hedwig's pursuit of the best black pudding in the whole Great Hall, swooping onto the tables of the other houses as she did so.

There was no-one awake this early in the morning. No-one, not even the teachers or Filch the caretaker was up and walking. Dawn was the twilight zone of Hogwarts, where everything was at a stand-still and frozen in time. There were no ghosts patrolling the hallways or portraits that slid by and gossiped. So Harry could be as loud as he wanted and no-one would be the wiser.

"Hey Hedwig," Harry called. He leaned forward conspiratorily, cupping his hands in front of his mouth. Hedwig landed in front of him, her head turned to the side as if she was using her ears to listen. "Did you send the Letter?"

A quiet coo. 

A smile spread on Harry's lips, breaking the mask he usually wore. 

"Are you...up for another one tonight?"

Her coo this time was deeper, longer, and held a hint of promise.

~~~~~~~~~

Harry fell to the floor, his satchel spilling its contents everywhere. He hissed in pain, rubbing at his shoulder with one hand and another, his bottom. He had landed on his tailbone, not one of the cushiest places on the body after all. 

“Watch it, Slimy _Potter_ ,” someone spat, and Harry looked up. A Gryffindor was towering above him, one of their arms wrapped around a bored Hufflepuff. When the girl noticed his stare, she wrinkled her nose before looking away. 

Nobody bothered to stop or gawk at the scene, everyone continuing their daily lives, weaving around the three of them. As if bullying was a norm at Hogwarts. Well, to be frank, it was true: bullying wasn't an everyday occurrence for the other Hogwarts students, but bullying and harassing of Harry Potter _was_.

The Gryffindor tsked at his unresponsive attitude before kicking at one of Harry’s nearby books. The book slid across the stone floor before bumping into Harry’s shoes. 

“Fuck off, you slimy snake. Dirty trash like you shouldn’t be allowed in the hallways, blocking our path. Go back to your stinky dungeon.” The Gryffindor stepped over Harry, lending his hand for the Hufflepuff to cross. How chivalrous. Helping a lady, but not a victim. 

But no matter, Harry thought as he picked up his books. He watched as the quill he was reaching for was broken into pieces when a passerby stepped and ground their foot on it, the shaft splintering and cracking and the feather all mangled and dirtied. 

He gathered the pieces and placed them into his bag, brushing off dust as he stood. He dodged an incoming student and slinked into the shadows of the corridor, an invisible follower as the crowd traveled. 

Soon, Harry found himself alone in an abandoned stone corridor filled with cobwebs and dust. He clasped his hands around his broken quill, the jagged pieces of shaft piercing his skin and beading blood, and brought it to his lips. Words flowed from his mouth, and the space between his hands began to glow, leaking golden light through cracks. 

It didn’t matter that all his schoolmates treated him badly; it didn’t matter that no-body cared for Harry, that the teachers forgot about him. Because what people tend to forget when they were surrounded by beautiful flowers was the deadly perseverance that weeds had.

He squeezed his hands even closer— _harder_ —together once the light dimmed, a pressure resented the motion, and Harry pressed even more. Until at last, it burst, splattering everywhere. On the wall in front of him, the floor, the ceiling, _himself_.

Something wet and warm and stale slid down Harry’s cheek, and he brushed it away with the back of his palm, smearing it onto his skin. And Harry smiled. 

In his hands, a flawless quill laid between the viscera of a small crushed bird, its life force bleeding through Harry’s palms and onto the floor below.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw: Spiders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Wolven_Spirits for the beta!
> 
> So...this chapter would have been out like two days ago, but since my laptop decided to go to Laptop Heaven for vacation, I was stuck using the mobile version of google docs. ;;;;; I cry, it's so hard to accept/reject suggestions QwQ

There was something hiding in the dark. 

Sometimes it sat there and stare, other times it moved. It walked circles around him, prowling, always too far to touch but too close to be mere breath of wind. It shifted, now, and parted shadows, teased at the invisible barrier it never crossed, and laughed like a hyena when it saw him shiver.

It talked to the spiders, a deep guttural sound. And with the same breath it cooed at the creatures, picked them up, petted them,and crushed them at the same time. The spiders squealed, a high-pitched squeal of pain that caused its brethren to flee and observed from the safety of the sidelines. 

But once the captured spider was dead—legs still, body crumpled, and bright blue leaking from its corpse, outlining its killer's hands—the spiders skittered back to their former positions, staring in awe.

The monster smiled with too many teeth as it listened to the praise and reverence it received. It allowed a couple of them to crawl all over its body. It waited with its maw open for the chosen spiders to step into the hole and onto its tongue. And then, the moment the last one entered, snapped its jaws shut, sending pieces of severed legs flying.

_Crunch. Crunch._ _**Snap. __**_

__The sound magnified tenfold in the darkness._ _

__It cracked open its mouth—decorated bright blue like the lipstick girls liked to wear—raised its clawed hands, and licked clean the innards of the crushed spider, devour it whole like it was an offering._ _

__The spiders that sat around it chanted, squeals that only they could understand, and cheered as it happened._ _

__Then the monster keeled over, sounds of retching overwhelming the spiders' glee before it straightened and opened its large maw once more._ _

__It stayed there and waited, one second, two seconds, before two large furry legs reached out and anchored themselves at the edge of its mouth. It remained silent as six other legs forced themselves out, tearing the seams of its jaws. It grinned around the furry body of the new spider queen as she took her first breath of air and cried for her loyal subjects._ _

__And all the while it stared straight into his eyes._ _

__~~~~~~~~_ _

_"Mr. Potter!"_

__The hard rap of a ruler struckHarry on the head, forcing him out of his dream. Harry hissed in pain, grabbing his head and rubbing the sparking spot. He glared at the person who hit him, only to cower in fear._ _

__He met the stony eyes of Professor McGonagall who all but stared disappointedly at him, a finger tapping steadily on her crossed arms. He gave her a sheepish smile, and opened his mouth—_ _

__"Detention, Mr. Potter."_ _

__Harry shut his mouth in a grimace and nodded his head in appeasement, ducking his head into his arms as embarrassment flooded through him. He pretended not to hear the snickers and jeers of his classmates._ _

__~~~~~~~~_ _

__Harry staggered into the bathroom, his satchel tumbling off his shoulder and onto the floor in an ungraceful heap._ _

__His head was swimming, the sights in front of him swirling and letting off sparks. He thought he heard Moaning Myrtle, but whatever she may have said was fluctuating in pitch, the words slurred at some points but normal at others._ _

__Miniature unicorns jumped from the stones around him, prancing around his legs. He tried to avoid them, but nearly tripped over his feet as he did so._ _

__When he looked over at the sinks, his reflection in the mirror was warping, In and out his features went, none of them staying in place or where he thought they were supposed to be. Harry backed away from the imag, and he swore that a nundu was right beside his peripherals._ _

__It stalked towards him before it pounced, and Harry fell down and tried to roll away from its powerful claws._ _

__"Nooo," he whimpered, crawling away from the dangerous beast, "don't—don't come...near me."_ _

__Vines sprouted and grew at an alarming rate, heading towards him. Its tendrils reached out and Harry batted them away._ _

__"G-get awa-ay," Harry slurred, his feet kicking and pushing him closer to a stall. "Get away from me-e."_ _

__A clawed hand reached for him, one that was pitch black, its nails dripping bright blue. A drop of blue fell onto the floor, and baby spiders molted forth, scurrying in every direction._ _

__"No! Stop! D-don't touch me! Go awa—!"_ _

__Darkness overcame him._ _

__~~~~~~~~_ _

__He laid there on the ground, staring straight into nothingness, surrounded by nothing but shadows. The monster wasn't here. Everything was stagnant and still._ _

__The air was musty and moldy. It hurt his lungs when he breathed in, made him wheeze every time he tried force it out. He hacked out coughs every so often, trying in vain to cough out the contaminated air._ _

__But his lungs were watery and something thick was blocking his throat._ _

__It hurt. He hated this. He wanted to get away from here. It was too hot. It was too wet. His throat was dry. He can't speak. There was nothing here. HE WANTED TO LEAVE._ _

__Something tickled his arm.It felt like fur. A quick pierce of something sharp on his flesh before he felt tiny patters crawling up him. It did nothing to rouse him from his daze._ _

__When the patters reached his chest, it stopped. It waited. It was pushed upwards slightly by his intake of breath, before it continued its previous objective, as if checking whether he was alive._ _

__The patters traveled to his neck where, again, he felt the small sharpness. It didn't hurt as much as his lungs did. In fact, he accepted it just as the creature accepted his moving chest as a sign of life. It travelled upwards, pass his chin, his lips, his nose, the fur tickling him._ _

__A large shuffling figure appeared in his vision. At last it arrived at its destination, blocking his empty gaze from the endless nothingness._ _

__He was forced to stare at the fuzzy body of a large spider, and he noticed the blue markings that decorated its fur. The spider queen._ _

__Her legs rubbed softly at his cheeks, as if consoling him, telling him that he was okay and he would be fine._ _

__Tears welled and spilled from his eyes, wetting the fur of spider queen's legs._ _

__~~~~~~~~_ _

__Something smooth and cold rested against his face, cooling the too-hot heat he was feeling._ _

__"Ugh." Harry shook his head free from the lingering dizziness. He clutched at his forehead, his head pounding in time with his heartbeat. No, scratch that, Harry was certain that his heart was in his head._ _

"Merlin, that's _disgusting_." 

__He was kneeling in front of a toilet bowl filled with odd colours and stomach acid. He wrinkled his nose and covered his face. It smelled rancid._ _

Once the stall was flushed, he slowly made his way to the sinks. His muscles were sore as if he had ran marathons nonstop the night before, his throat extremely dry, and his mouth had the horrible aftertaste of bile and _other_. 

__Harry flung open the taps and guzzled the water, soothing his throat and hopefully cleaning his palate. When his stomach was full with water, he splashed water onto his face before leaning heavily onto the sink edges._ _

__"Well, you look like shite." He said to his reflection._ _

__And he did. His hair was matted with sweat and something sticky, one side flat and the other just a mess. There were heavy bags beneath his eyes, so purple that they looked rather like black eyes. He pried his eyes open to get a better look in the mirror—those were certainly blood-shot eyes._ _

__"Fuck, it's so hot." He shed off his robes, letting the fabric soak up the dirty floor._ _

Everything was too dirty to be given any care. Harry was too tired to give even himself even an _ounce_ of care. 

__Conjuring a cup, Harry filled it with water and dumped it over his head. A very rudimentary bath but it wasn't like he could just saunter towards the shower stalls right now._ _

__He groaned and sat on the floor, cradling his throbbing head and flushed face. "I wish Hermione was here," he grumbled. She shouldn't have been sent away. She was smart and kind and overall the best person that Harry has ever known in his life. And she would have known that something was wrong the moment he sat down in the Great Hall._ _

__The Dark Lord should have allowed her to stay._ _

__This time, Harry fell asleep to the sound of running water and the memories of Hermione guiding him by hand._ _

__~~~~~~~~_ _

__Voldemort returned to his study, having just marginally escaped Nagini's nagging. He spelled the door shut and walked towards his chair before uncharacteristically slumping into its cushions._ _

__Bless Nagini, his mother in all but blood, but sometimes she takes things one step too far. Voldemort groaned and waved his hand, locking the door to be snake-proof. Because for some reason, Nagini had acquired the knowledge of opening locked doors, both magically and manually. And he did not need her opinions on the current matter at hand._ _

__She had found a rat in the midst of his circles._ _

__Sadly, it wasn't Pettigrew, but someone else. A young boy that had been initiated less than a year ago._ _

__The boy was a fresh graduate of Hogwarts, surprisingly a Gryffindor—though that should have been a warning in and of itself to Voldemort. The boy had been so eager to join his forces, offering the castle of Hogwarts herself to him._ _

__Their reason for joining his forces?_ _

Extreme and utter contempt for the Light's Savior. The " _Child-Who-Lived_." 

__When the boy had come to him, his eyes had been spitting fire as he pleaded to Lord Voldemort. He spat the name of his nemesis like it was trash, as if the one people called a savior was as tarnished as a gold crown gone bad. All disgusting and crusty and not worthy of their title._ _

__Voldemort had been curious upon seeing such _hate_ on the boy's face. So curious as to what the Light's Savior had done to be seen by the boy as "one of the two most hated students of Hogwarts."_ _

He had wanted to gleam into their mind and just _see_ the events that evolved to this _mess_ of a boy. Because there were only a few handfuls of people that hated the Light's Savior instead of feeling mere petty distaste that Slytherins normally do. 

__But he had refrained._ _

__Not because it was immoral to read the mind of a child, but rather because Voldemort wanted to savour it like he would wine. To let it sit and fester and age to a delicacy._ _

__However, it seems that the wait would have been for naught, Voldemort sighed. Nagini would not relent a traitor so easily just for him to fulfill his curiosity._ _

__He opened one of his desk's drawers and reached in, smiling when he felt it. He threw himself back onto the cushions of his seat, uncaring of how childish and unrefined it was._ _

__Voldemort gazed at the letter in his hands, only one of many. He admired the scratchy penmanship of the author, the way there were thick dark lines at the start of words. As if they were hesitant to share their thoughts, unsure if it was the right decision._ _

__He smiled when he remembered that the hesitance had transformed into confidence half-way through, the words written with scrawling speed becoming near illegible. But to Voldemort it would never be so, because he could understand their meaning no matter how it was written._ _

__Though he secretly wished that the author would take a penmanship class._ _

__Just thinking of the contents of each letter made Voldemort flustered. The wild imagination that the author had made his cheeks heat—something that he thought was impossible in his new body._ _

The way they poured out their very _soul_ , their very _hatred_ , their dark _desires_ —Voldemort shuddered at the thought, a slight moan leaving his mouth. 

__He pressed the envelope to his lips, tasting the cheap parchment and also cheap ink. One of the very first things that Voldemort would do when he got his hands on this elusive author, he will present them stationary of the highest quality. They will want for nothing._ _

__Their beautiful thoughts deserved nothing but the best. The violence and cruelty and pure emotions in their rawest form already so very expressive on peasant parchmen.How much more would they bloom on thick card stock and the finest India ink?_ _

__He licked his lips, eyes fluttering closed. It should be illegal on how only a few words on paper could make the Dark Lord feel like this._ _

__When he opened his eyes again, they were half-lidded, staring at the re-sealed envelope in his hands. He should exert more effort in his investigation of the identity of the author._ _

__He just hoped it was not the traitor boy—and Voldemort knew that the author was a boy due to the severe lack of grace in the handwriting—because it would be such a shame if it was so._ _

__~~~~~~~~_ _

__A hard, painful wack to the head struck Harry awake._ _

__"Ow! Hedwig, wha—?" A sudden sneeze interrupted Harry. The force of it so powerful that it burned both his nose and throat, He raised his hand to wipe his nose, only to meet a sopping wet sleeve instead._ _

__"What?"_ _

__Water was everywhere, his robes soaking because of it. He staggered to his feet, the odd position he had slept in made his muscles cramp._ _

__Harry almost fell from the weight of his robes, the entirety of it soaked, chilling him to the bone. He shivered. Why was everything wet?_ _

__He took a step forwards, water sloshing and his feet squelching inside his wet shoes. There was a layer of water covering the entire floor, the height of it lapping at his ankles._ _

__A hoot sounded above him, and Harry's head shot up. He breathed out a sigh of relief when he saw that Hedwig was safe and away from harm, atop one of the stall walls._ _

__"Hedwig! How did you get in here? Never mind that, fly away from here! It's not safe!"_ _

__Where? Harry's head turned around.Where was the water coming from? He spun around in a circle, the water splashing with his every move, frantically searching for the cause._ _

__Was it a burst pipe? A horrible shitty prank to finish him off—?_ _

__There was a sound of running water behind him._ _

__Harry whipped around so fast that if he wasn't afraid of drowning in water, he would have cared about the whiplash. He ran forward, practically tripping with the amount of added weight to his body._ _

__He cursed at his own stupidity. Hedwig had been right when she had whacked him on his head._ _

__The bathrooms in Hogwarts were charmed to keep any odor or water inside the room. When the sealing charm was activated, nothing could escape from the room until either the water or the smell was cleaned up._ _

__It was a double-edged sword. On one hand it would stop the disgusting smells and mess of a bathroom from leaking out into the rest of the castle, but on the other hand, it blocked any route of communication for help if anyone was inside the barrier. Harry was sure that there had been more than one accident that had occurred in Hogwarts history because of the lack of safety measures being installed, but the Board of Education still refused to dismantle the majik._ _

__And Harry had activated the charm when he had left the sink tap running._ _

__Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!_ _

__~~~~~~_ _

__When Harry was finally freed from the bathroom, the sky had already turned to dusk._ _

He had missed not only his potions class but also supper at the Great Hall too. And now he would be late to Professor McGonagal's detention according to his _Tempus_. 

__So Harry slunk back into the Slytherins Dormitory, stuffed his sodd clothes into a hamper, and fell promptly to sleep._ _

__He would worry about all the detentions he missed tomorrow, because surely since he'd been through so much today he deserved a break._ _

__~~~~~~~~_ _

__He was sitting in the dark again, listening to the rumbles and groans that passed by._ _

_Creak....crack._

_Creeak..._

__There wasn't much for him to do here. There was no colour except for various shades of dark grey. There was nothing in the air but cobwebs and musk. There was nothing beneath him but a ratty old coloured blanket and loose floorboards._ _

__Out of sheer boredom, he pried one back and stared into the millions of tiny eyes that looked back. They squeaked at him with their miniature bodies, each of them waving one of their eight legs in greeting. He blinked back at them before gently closing the hole._ _

__And he sat there in the darkness, listening to the moans and whispers of his surroundings._ _

__In his boredom, he lay back onto the dirty blanket and stared up at the endless ceiling. He wordlessly counted the strands of spider silk on each web, counting the way the spiders told him to._ _

__Some of the older spiders descended from them, forever spinning and weaving, destroying and remaking._ _

__Occasionally, they slid down on a long string and hang over his nose. He watched them dance, their legs moving in uncertainty and they whispered their names. Sages is what they called themselves before they fled back to the safety far above._ _

__And he sat there in the darkness, waiting, a familiar sensation of hunger gnawing in his stomach._ _

Sometimes it felt like centuries of time had passed in his wait, other times it was as if _they_ were always there. 

__His back prickled at the sensation of being watched, the tiny hairs on his neck raising, but he wouldn't turn. He wouldn’t flinch when he heard the dog-like laughter of the monster in the darkness, the shrill, grating sound of claws dragging across the wooden floors, or the deliberate breaths of cold air and nip to his ears._ _

__He only stared upwards when the spider queen made herself known. She slid gracefully down a string of silk before she landed on his face, her eight legs cradling him gently. She looked into his eyes and spoke, one of her legs brushing away his messy, dirtied hair._ _

_You, my dear one, are special_. 

_You are my child and my consort, the child and grandchild of Darkness, heir to the Shadows. You are mine, and we are yours._

_You will reign over fear, rule with the powers vested before you, the everlasting Darkness that sways but never falls._

_**All shall bow to you as my kind bows to me. My king, my prince, my killer.**_

__Slowly, the spider queen crawled into his mouth, forcing her body down his throat. Her last webbing used to sew a mask over his face, taping his mouth shut, the beautiful shimmer of her gossamer the last that he would ever see of her._ _

__And he sat there in the darkness— bright blue dripping from his lips and tears from his cheeks, the monster in the darkness baptizing him in mocking laughter, his hunger momentarily fulfilled—awaiting the birth of the new spider queen._ _

__~~~~~~~~_ _

__A loud rustle broke the silence of the smoke-filled night. A blur of white burst through the trees, weaving through the incense of burning flesh._ _

__“KILL IT! IT’S AIMING FOR OUR LORD!”_ _

__Spells were shot through the air, lighting the darkness with multitudes of colours—none of which hit its target true._ _

__However, there was one, a crackling bright violet that was aimed with deadly precision. Mere centimeters before it struck, the curse shattered against a pale barrier, the sigils and insignias of the protection magic flaring bright silver upon the impact._ _

__“M-My Lord!”_ _

__There was a flutter of wings, feathers of white drifting to the ground, when an owl landed on the raised arm of the Dark Lord._ _

Lord Voldemort turned his head slightly, “The bird is _mine_!” he declared, his red eyes focused on one of his followers. 

__No sooner had the words left his mouth, a pained scream wrought through the air. The rest of his Knights fell to their knees, apologies spilling from their lips._ _

__But Voldemort ignored them, his attention on the bird on his arm. There was an envelope in its beak, cheaply bleached and poorly sealed._ _

__With careful hands, he took it in exchange for a strip of bloodied fresh flesh from one of the corpses that littered the floor._ _

__He turned the paper over, a predatory smile twisted his lips at what he saw. ‘Dear Stranger’ written in hideous penmanship._ _

__Maniacal glee burned deep in his soul, and he threw back his head and laughed. There was a faint sense of pain when the owl nipped at his fingers, either in gratitude or startlement, before it took off, fleeing from the destroyed and slaughtered remains of a village._ _


End file.
